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Updated: May 9, 2025
"I don't want anything to-day," she said, before Saxon could speak, administering the rebuff with a pleasant smile. Saxon groaned inwardly over the black-covered telescope basket. Evidently the woman had seen her put it down. "We're not peddling," she explained quickly. "Oh, I am sorry for the mistake." This time the woman's smile was even pleasanter, and she waited for Saxon to state her errand.
No one could perceive that the black-sleeved arm of Rust had found a happy resting-place around Madame's black-covered waist, or that her glowing head was not far from his shoulder. Her Paris evening frock was cut low, though never by the fraction of an inch would Madame permit her couturier to exceed the limits of perfect taste.
It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig's skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books.
She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig's skull. "I must take them," she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. "How shall I get my luggage out of the house?..." The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure.
Excerpts from the thin red-and black-covered volume found their way overnight into the press of the nation. Periodicals seized upon the extended brochure as a Dokument. In pamphlet form the gist of it started upon the rounds of Europe. The garrulity of the day had been given for the moment a new direction. "We will go to Munich. There will be a revolution in Munich.
Harding's room after he left us. I didn't think it of sufficient value to forward to him, nor indeed did I know exactly where to send." "Can you show me the diary?" asked Luke, hopefully. "Yes. I have it upstairs in my chamber. Wait five minutes and I will get it for you." A little later a small, black-covered diary was put in Luke's hand.
As Joe continued to wave one hand with an undulating motion over the silent black-covered figure in the chair, he touched, here and there, the drapery over Helen. He seemed very solicitous that it should hang perfectly right, covering the figure of the girl and the chair completely from sight in every direction all around the stage.
Miss Brown sat down at her desk, drew out the black-covered record book from the right-hand drawer, and gave a few reassuring pats to her dark, orderly hair. Scurrying footsteps pounded up to the cloak room entrance. A moment later, Thomas Jackson, still panting and breathless, stumbled into his seat and mopped the beads of perspiration from his dark-skinned forehead with his coatsleeve.
"I don't think I shall be able to collect my wits enough to tell a story this evening," said our governess as we sat at tea on the Thursday evening, "for I've had a long letter to answer and to think over; but I fancied you liked my story about the Baby's Hand, and so if you please I'll read you another from a little black-covered manuscript book which my old friend gave me.
Yossel, propped on his crutches, was pulling out a mouldering black-covered book from under his greasy caftan. 'I have brought you back your Chovoth Halvovoth, he said. In the vivid presence of the actual romance the artist could not suppress the smile he had kept back at the mere shadowy recital. In Rome he himself had not infrequently called on young ladies by way of returning books to them.
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